


Working for the Dark Lord

by Chuck_Johannsen



Category: Harry Potter - Prince of Slytherin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuck_Johannsen/pseuds/Chuck_Johannsen
Summary: A story of Rookwood before the fall of Voldermort. What did he do, that made him so valuable?





	Working for the Dark Lord

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828654) by [TheSinister_Man](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSinister_Man/pseuds/TheSinister_Man). 



                Augustus Rookwood. No one in the department knew his name; that was how the system worked; in theory, the Chief kept a list, but even he performed self-Oblivation every time it was used. Secrets did not remain secrets, if even one person knew the answer. _Veritas per Sacramentum;_ that was the code sworn to by every Unspeakable when they joined the Department. Truth Through Mystery. For whom could discover Truth, if all stopped the Seeker? No, through Mystery, the search for Truth could continue.

                The Dark Lord had impressed him in that way. His ability to see Truth through Grade Five Occlumancy shields proved his superiority. Not even the chief Unspeakable could bypass the Ancient Rookwood techniques. Which lead to his current predicament: seeking Truth in the Dark.

                Coffee swirled in his cup, the flimsy object itself placed on the table of a Muggle institution. At first he’d assumed the mermaid emblazoned upon the establishment’s coat-of-arms hinted at some Family secretly running the institution. The Poissone were a minor line, advantageously placed for international trade. Yet careful prodding with Legilmancy revealed only empty thoughts of strange musics, complex equations belonging to some ‘college,’ and of an equally empty-headed boy. Nothing about employers that carried wands, miraculous happenings, or even the hazy segments indicating memory charms.

                He Oblivated her, of course. Rookwood’s Oblivations were works of art, tailored to seamlessly blend reality and fiction – idiots in the _other_ departments were far to cavalier with what they viewed as ‘mere muggles.’

                Rookwood continued his search. The target frequented such an establishment, that much he’d discerned from the foolish girl’s mind. He preferred a ‘dark roast, double espresso cappuccino, extra cream.’ As of yet, the recipe failed to reveal any hidden meaning, but its name rested in the encrypted corner of his mind, where a portion of his attention devoted itself to solving such things. There was a risk in that the name was just a basic description, but he had been wrong before, and would be again.

                Target Omega – tertiary adjunct five walked into the store. Rookwood blinked; was it truly this simple? Look for the closest beverage producer, and wait? No, it couldn’t be. There had to be a confidante, some friend or ally being met – it’s exactly what he would do.

                Primary approach denied, Rookwood turned to his secondary plan; targeting the flimsy cups stacked behind the countertop. Their pure white complexion turned a faint yellow for an instant, under the influence of the second of three Wandless charms he’d mastered. Tracking charms were considered a Light bit of magic; parents frequently used them on their children. Research – liberated – from some of the Archives demonstrated more useful applications, such as variants receptive only to a magical’s touch. Of course, the charm vanished without external influence, quite quickly indeed. But it vanished with barely a trace, an Auror’s bread and butter; the Dark Lord had been so very pleased to learn how his operatives were caught in Muggle realms.

                But the second part was tricky, even for a mind such as his. Head of House rings provided protection against mind-altering magics; did a tracking charm count? No Lord had ever been convinced to be a test subject, as the Ring could not be tested without the Lord with it. Firing the charm at a Lord would bring trouble, even to the Unspeakable Department – Lords were petty beings.

                This would be exciting.

                Still convinced they were around a harmless little man, the customers flowed through the muggle store. It wasn’t an _illusion_ per se, but a mild alteration in perception. People varied, Rookwood had known, and his enchantment incorporated that variance as a core feature. Their actions triggered the enchantment; a limping muggle altered his perceived height to that of a small man, no threat to anyone.  A tall, energetic man would likely think he looked at a corpulent individual, rotund with inactivity.

                Target Omega accepted the proffered bait, eagerly imbibing the acrid beverage. Skin warmed to the charm’s coloration, visible with a simple tracking charm for over fifty miles. Given the average Apparation range, more than close enough.

                Waiting then; a hard pastime.

                Rookwood spent the next ninety minutes at a nearby museum. Muggle interpretations of the Ancient Past were _fascinating_. Their interpretation of the Witch Trials held surprisingly accurate information, yet fully believed famed wizards like Enrico Fermi were mundane in the extreme. Observing the effects inflicted by the Statute of Secrecy were enlightening, at the least. It gave him new ideas on seeking Truth; befuddling the masses with powerful magics always held lesser applications.

                The Tracking charm flickered in his perceptions. By the color, Target Alpha had just Apparated less than twenty miles. Reluctantly, he left the intriguing display of 15th century artwork, stepping behind a large museum piece to follow.

                His trace lead to the outskirts of a small town of Bonk. Of course, he made his own Apparation more distant, to remain out of earshot. Target Alpha had grown canny since the start of the Enlightenment, wise to the tell-tale signs of ambush.

                It was fortunate this was no standard attack.

                Rookwood called up his mental depiction of the town; the only place worth mentioning was a warehouse, enlarged to serve as a storage depot for multiple families. That was likely where the Target would be heading. If so, there were three good places for an ambush. He’d take the fourth.

                Another split-second Apparation, and he’d reached a small park, groves of trees giving the illusion of peaceful tranquility. He knew better; nature was the epitome of growth, violence, and change. But Target Alpha still needed to learn that fact. To better prepare the field, he let the first enchantment fall, losing the weakened appearance, and gaining that of a large, powerful man. It enhanced his mass to a certain extent, so that footprints would be made in accordance to what the eyes perceived; a relatively modern spell developed by an Unspeakable that had tragically forgotten to apply Brain Repellent in the Thought room.

                How careless.

                He waited until the man neared the center of the woods, many trees blocking visibility, and faked a loud cough. His target glanced up, freezing for a split second when their eyes met.

Rookwood struck, landing a full-force hammer-strike blow against his target’s mental shielding. Resistance met his probe, but feeble; no one expected an attack in broad daylight. The appearance intimidated, but most expected spellfire, not Mind magics.

                Images passed through his mind. Mansions, ornate stones with highly functional ward-schematics engraved under the deceptive filigree. He pushed harder, brute-forcing his way to the more sensitive portions of the target’s mind. Simultaneously, secondary branches of his awareness glided into different areas, trawling through memories, memorizing everything. While the main attack distracted, his mental flanking gathered far more data than a single focused consciousness.

                Feeling the man’s awareness begin to fade, Rookwood retreated, wiping clean the traces of his presence. As he dis-entangled the last thoughts, he saw the target’s cup hit the ground, and mentally awarded himself a pat on the back. At a rate of three span a second acceleration, and a distance of one span from the target’s waist to the ground, it had taken him less than five seconds to retrieve what was needed, provide sufficient cover-up trauma, and regain full awareness. Two seconds better than before; the Dark Lord’s advice had benefited him greatly.

                Moving quickly, Rookwood resumed his earlier enchantment, regaining the appearance of a medium-sized man, but this time activated the Unspeakable mask, hiding his face and gender. Switching wands, he fired several curses, splintering trees and pocketing the ground with holes. A palmed Portkey, set to disintegrate after use, left his hand to land against a surprised rat. It would have the unique privilege of becoming one of the few rats in existence to experience high-altitudes. The trail would be traced of course, and then blamed on a canny foe that used brooms in conjunction with strange portkeys.

Switching modes, Rookwood tasked another portion of his mind with memorizing the terrain, for future engagements. Target Alpha still lay on the ground, blood seeping from his nasal cavity; a side-effect from the more brutal attacks, but easily explained as over-indulging in caffeinated products.

                Rookwood paused for a moment, bringing the appropriate mnemonic to mind. Gracefully, he lowered himself towards the fallen Target Alpha. A concerned look spread across his face, studying the fallen man’s form. A red spell struck the target – _man._ He awoke, gesticulating wildly before freezing.

                Rookwood made a calming gesture. “You are lucky. Most men targeted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are set-upon by so few. I have contacted St. Mungo’s, are you in pain?”

                The man at him as if he were the Returning Merlin – natural, considering the formal clothing he wore, and the professional attitude. Muggle or Wizard, it didn’t matter: projected authority made sheep obey. “I, dizzy. Lord Bones, thank you. Did he …?”

                Rookwood shrugged, full Unspeakable persona in force. “He – or she – portkeyed away. I have a trace active, but it will not last long.”

                The man – Lord Bones – growled in his throat. “I didn’t think they’d stumble on us so soon. I’ll need to call reinforcements.”

                Twin _pops_ brought Rookwood’s wand up, belatedly joined by Lord Bones. Both Healers raised their hands in alarm. One took a second look, and sighed. “It’s alright Morty. Just don’t talk about what we saw and we’ll be good.

                Rookwood nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”

He waited until both of the Healers had their backs turned, then tightened his touch on the wand for a moment, performing a quick-and-dirty memory adjustment, something sloppy that wouldn’t reveal his pattern, or magical feel. After arriving in the Department, he would return the wand to its original hiding place. It carried a signature similar to the Dark Lord’s, and would register as such by the time his counterparts in the _other_ department got around to questioning a clueless muggle. False trails, laid by an omni-present Dark Lord would spread terror, and stretch resources thinner than ever. All in addition to the information gained from this one effort.

                He waited, obscuring charm in place, until the specialists from St. Mungo’s left, accepting their professional thanks in the manner of an Unspeakable. That was to say, aloof, but concerned. Their departure with Lord Bones left him free to pursue other Truth, and perhaps give a thought to arranging an ambush, now that he knew the composition of the Bones Family Manor, and a potential gathering. Perhaps a suggestion to the Dark Lord’s private ear?

                It bore thought, anyway. No one would know how the leak had occurred. No one knew who he was. That’s the way things were, that’s how they would remain.


End file.
